Imprisoned Together
by Alexis St. Claire
Summary: What if Christine had been with Erik in persia? What if she wasn't a diva, but a lowly servant girl to the Khanum?


"Cryst-_al!"_

OH no. Christine knew that shrill, impudent voice. The Khanum must have a new fancy or toil she wished to have carried out for her. Grumbling ever so lightly so as not to be heard by the surrounding guards, and stilling her lips as to not be seen by the hidden eyes of the castle, Christine sat straight up on her knees, bowing her head, and folding her hands as she knew the Khanum would expect.

When she had first been brought here after her father died, the Khanum had mentioned her dislike for her name and so it had been changed to Crystal, a less significant name for a needless person the Khanum said laughingly. She knew why the Khanum so hated her though, it was because she was more beautiful beyond any other maiden in the kingdom including the Khanum herself and that was a very high offense. So the Khanum did everything she possibly could to make her life miserable. She ordered her to cook, to clean, and to wash the prisoners in their cells. Christine hated they way the cells stank. Not too mention the faceless corpse who was said to live down there as he worked for the Khanum.

Christine was a curious animal by nature and had many times wandered about in her break, pretending to be washing the prisoners while she was really looking for the faceless corpse. Everyone regarded him with a certain amount of respect and fear, except the Khanum of course. While she knew he was tortured himself from time, and even locked away in a cell no one could reach for days on end without washing, sitting in his own waste, she knew he was one of the Khanum's 'favorite' play things.

The Khanum delighted in making others miserable, and it was just good fortune if it added to her popularity.

"Aahhh, Crystal, my wonderful little handmaid, what are you up to now?"

I didn't answer knowing full well this was a trap to get me to speak without permission. She cackled happily, clapping her hands together like a little child.

"My little handmaid is getting so smart! You may speak," she said arrogantly, raising her head like a goose and waving her arm about in a breezy manor.

I didn't raise my head; that would show I thought I was at her level. "Just washing the floors, majesty."

"Hmm, well Crystal, I have a new job for you. When you're done scrubbing this whole floor I'd like you to bring a meal up to my corpse."

I froze, my eyes widened and for once I was grateful for this long tangled mess people called hair, it would have made the Khanum giddy to see any reaction that questioned her authority.

"Is that understood?"

"Yes, Majesty."

The hair on the back of Christine's neck stood up, and gooseflesh erupted all over her body. She could feel the Khanum's eyes staring into her, waiting, wanting her to lift her head.

But to do so would mean a beating, she had learned that much. Christine's head remained firmly tilted downward. She heard a disappointed sigh leave the Witch's wicked lips before she screeched, "Now continue your work!" And swished out of sight, leaving behind a trail of lowered heads and bowed waists.

Christine hesitated for only a moment before picking up the brush and dipping it in the bucket once again. She wondered as she scrubbed, what did the faceless corpse look like? There was talk among the slaves that were lower than herself, and she's heard every once and awhile tales of a horrible disfigurement called the Death's head. Christine was near giddy with excitement.

She had always kept a careful ear out to hear about the Khanum's amazing architecture. He had built so many wonderful things in the palace. The new dining room, the balcony, even a play land for the Shah's children from his many wives. They were all beautiful.

How could someone who was supposedly ugly, supposedly _dead, _create so many things that were beautiful?

Christine was ashamed to admit she had had fantasies about the Phantom. Phantom was a better suited name for him she had decided, corpse was too … death-like for someone who was so obviously living, but she only ever used it in her own head. To say it out loud was too dangerous an action to even behold in your thoughts let alone in reality.

Christine always thought he would be so romantic like the Beauty and the Beast. Although, it was even more shameful to say that her thoughts were purest right then. She had daydreams about running into him, with her clothes displaced from her person, why she had no reason. He would see her and feast his eyes on her very flesh … greedy for more of the female sensuality he had been so long deprived of …

Christine screeched unattractively as she was suddenly doused in water.

"You're done miss." Smirked one of the guards. Belatedly Christine looked down and realized she had scrubbed the whole floor during her daydream. Spitting out the water that made it into her mouth she rose silently and walked past the guards with a quiet thank you.

Christine hurried down the corridor to Cook's room.

"Cookie?"

She called as she entered the blistering kitchen. Pans clanged and pots banged as people scurried about like worker ants under their queen.

"Ahh, Chile' Christine, what can I do for ya'?"

Christine smiled at Cookie's slurred words of English; she was a loveable round woman of about 45.

"I'm taking up the meal to the Phantom Cookie, I need something good."

"Pssshhhaww, you should know by now Chile', that Cookie's cookin' is betta than anathang in the world."

Christine smiled warmly, "I know it is Cookie, just make this one real special alright?"

Cookie winked back mischievously, "You got it, Chile'."


End file.
